


Dealing with Parenthood [Tobio Kageyama]

by royalyoo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humour, Kageyama Tobio is a Mess, Kageyama Tobio is a dad, idk how to tag, maybe this is peak comedy on my side, single dad tobio, you are his neighbour and cant take the baby cries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalyoo/pseuds/royalyoo
Summary: Tobio Kageyama had little to no experience in the romance department. He’d always been too caught up with volleyball, so that there was essentially neither time nor much of an interest in a girl. There was, however, a single time where he’d made a move, with admittedly a good amount of vodka in his blood, on a girl and even slept with her. But that was about it. So naturally, it’d come to be a huge and quite unpleasant surprise for the aspiring pro volleyball player to find a basket with what looked to be an about one-year-old toddler inside, alongside a letter addressed to him, claiming that this crying, pooping mess of a kid were to be his child.But it was his. And he was at a loss of word and thought on what to do. He’d just become a parent in the most crucial time of his life—right before his tryout match for the Schweiden Adlers. Not to mention that that baby did not just rob his sleep, but also his newly moved in neighbour’s—a cute girl with quite an attitude when disrupted past midnight, or just you. In conclusion, Tobio Kageyama was dealing with parenthood... among other things.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter One

**𝟎𝟏\. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞**

_𝘬𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦_

When Tobio Kageyama fell into his sheets at approximately 2:30 a.m, he could only wonder what sins he’d committed in his former life to deserve all of this. Where had he gone wrong? The athlete scoffed internally, _‘This is all Oikawa-san’s fault.’_ He’d turned the light on his nightstand off with a click, and fished for his mobile phone among the pillows. When he’d finally gotten a hand on the pesky little thing he frowned: His alarm was set for 7 a.m, which meant that he’d not even get five hours of sleep now. That was, if God would grace him with silence and relaxation. But what had even happened? Honestly, even for Tobio this was all way too bizarre to grasp, however… 

_Earlier that day_

The day hadn’t started out all that bad, if Tobio were honest to God. He woke up without the urge to murder his alarm clock at 7 a.m. sharp, beating his alarm by a couple seconds. His meal that day tasted better than usual, maybe he’d finally gotten a hang of poaching eggs. The telly wasn’t speaking about depressing news anymore, but provided him with excellent information: Bayern Munich had won the UEFA Champions League. Now Tobio wasn’t exactly a Bayern fan, but he certainly harboured a dislike for Paris Saint Germain. So, overall, Bayern winning was a plus for the day. 

While eating his home cooked poached egg—of which he was so proud he’d sent Sugawara a snapchat video of it—he was playing on his phone, going through the dozens of group chats he couldn’t remember ever asking to be in, and scrolling through his instagram feed, which mainly consisted of volleyball players and cat aesthetic accounts, and well, his former Karasuno teammate’s personal accounts. A frown had graced his features when he’d opened Hinata’s newly uploaded instagram story: It was just a picture of him holding a black jersey, on which he could barely decipher an –SBY. That was enough for Tobio, the volleyball nerd of the century, to know that Hinata had already gotten through his respective tryouts. He clenched his fist around the phone screen. Now, he was proud to see his former classmate, teammate—hell, they even used to be flatmates for half a year before the orange haired midget decided to buy a oneway ticket to Brazil—and friend succeed in the career he so desperately desired ever since he’d known him. But it still left a huge chunk of bitterness in his chest to see him, who used to be nothing but a klutz with godly reflexes, beat the so-called genius setter and “King of the Court” to the entrance of the first league of professional men’s volleyball. 

Kageyama’s frown only grew double in size when he’d clicked on Miya Atsumu’s instagram story (they’d exchanged usernames during that training camp back then in his first year of high school and kept the mutual ever since) only to see a similar picture of the Black Jackal’s jersey. _‘Great, everyone’s getting into a first league team, and here I am waiting for an invitation for a simple tryout,’_ Tobio thought, taking a big bite from his poached egg, which didn’t taste as great anymore. When he’d clicked on Oikawa Tooru’s instagram story, which also had a black preview going on, he almost thought that he, too, got into MSBY—despite the fact he was neither in Japan, nor a Japanese citizen anymore (not that that was a requirement). Tobio wasn’t sure if he was relieved to find out that he wasn’t suddenly in the team or whether he was annoyed to see his senior from middle school _hype_ up his number one rival, and, well friend, on his team membership. “Shoyo-kun, I’m so proud of you!! Many kisses. I always knew you’re better than Tobio-chan,” Tobio read out loud mimicking his _senpai_ and grimaced. He closed the app and slammed his poor iPhone on the table. _That son of a—_

He’d almost finished the curse in his head, but got stopped when a notification for his e-mail lit up on his phone screen: It was from the Schweiden Adlers' coach. Tobio Kageyama had never once in his life reached for his mobile that fast, and he never once before was as happy for the existence of Face ID to make his phone unlock at top speed—maybe Apple iPhone’s had something going on other than a hefty price tag. 

Where Kageyama’s face was looking equivalent to a toad before, he now looked like a golden retriever when it got a treat. This was amazing. Tobio knew that sometimes complaining will do the job and God will show mercy on you and part the sea and talk to you through a burning bush, but he hadn’t known that that almighty entity up there in heaven listened to his internal, never voiced-out complaints and had his dream team send him an invitation for tryouts for, _holy shit_ , next week! Kageyama gasped and his mind was running a hundred miles a minute, constructing an apparently foolproof training schedule to ensure that the Adlers would accept him into their team as a new setter. He’d noted that he should also squeeze in an hour to hit the church—light a candle, chant an ‘Ave Maria,’ maybe throwing in a couple thousand Yen in the charity box, you know, everything to get him some karma points up there. 

After these _heavenly_ news, Kageyama couldn’t care less about Hinata, Atsumu and that _bastard_ Oikawa, who’d mocked him for all his followers to see. Okay, maybe he did care a little bit about Tooru’s story, and it irked him that he knew that he’d _seen_ the story already. But thinking about the fact that his tryouts would be next week, and he felt very confident in his abilities—it would be the sweetest victory to be able to post a shady instagram story with the Schweiden Adlers’ jersey, maybe he’d even mention username oiktooru for good measure—made his sour mood turn as sweet as candyfloss. His lips were now shaped into a devilish grin—in hindsight, envy, wrath and pride were all part of the seven deadly sins, maybe that put his karma balance into the negative. 

⋙◆⋘

Tobio Kageyama had a plan set out for himself, the five steps to success: Eggs, cardio, weights, being intimate with a volleyball, and re-watching several Schweiden Adlers’ matches. Albeit, his carton now only held a single egg, and that alone won’t carry him through this intense week of heavy training, which would be the stepping stone to Tobio Kageyama’s entry to the history books—okay, maybe that really smelled like superbia. The setter had grabbed his wallet from his desk, as well as his AirPods case and his mobile phone, along with a reusable bag for groceries—else Asahi-san would be breathing down his neck about the climate and pollution once again—and an umbrella, just in case. A little before the clock struck 8 a.m, Tobio Kageyama left his flat. His eyes were staring down his hip, hands in his pockets as he was checking for his keys before he’d shut his door close. ‘Gotcha!’ he thought as he felt the metallic object on his fingertips. With his vision still not quite upfront, he began to walk away from his home, however only a couple of steps could be done before he’d land flat on his ass with a groan—a shriek and a bump and clatter resonated in his ears. Finally, he looked in front of him and his gaze fell upon _you_. 

You were an unfamiliar face to him. Granted, that didn’t mean all that much as he had a weakness when it came down to remembering faces and people, unless they were connected to his favourite sports. But this time around, he wasn’t wrong—he really didn’t know you at all. Your gaze had locked with the stare of his eyes, which were quite pretty, if you had to admit so. But your worries were more on the box that had just dropped a metre and maybe a half down to the floor; you knelt forward, opening the carton and chanting prayers in your head that your precious grandma’s china, which she had entrusted to you on your first journey of independence—your first flat, no parents, just you in your own four walls. A sigh of relief was heard from you as you saw that everything had been intact, although the order a tad bit disrupted, but it definitely could have been worse.

The person you collided with was sitting up now, dusting his trousers and looking at you in interest. In your anxiety for your box you hadn’t noticed that you’d also dropped your keys and a paper bag from the nearby bakery, where Tobio would always get his much beloved milk bread from. He’d picked them up and handed them to you. 

“Are you alright,” he finally croaked out, voice still raspy from the lack of talk he practiced. You looked toward the source of sound, forming the smallest—yet cutest, Tobio noted—of smiles and nodded.

“Yes, thankfully. This box is full of fragile things,” you replied, giving Tobio a peek into the box. He saw a bunch of fancy tea cups and plates, which put his IKEA sets to shame. 

“I’m glad then. And sorry,” he spoke and you raised an eyebrow.

“Pardon?” Kageyama stared at you as if he were a car. 

“The collision. It was my fault. I didn’t look where I was going,” Tobio elaborated, mentally checking the clock and realising that he needed to head to the grocery store soon, if he wants to stay ahead of schedule. Your eyes flashed acknowledgement and your expression of confusion was replaced with a warm smile, which gave Tobio the tiniest butterfly wing beats. 

“It’s fine. My vision was also quite blocked by my box,” you mentioned and Tobio nodded, now making small movements to get around you and leave the building. He was shortly stopped in his tracks when your voice chimed again: “I’m _____, by the way. I just moved in.” 

He turned around and nodded.

“Kageyama Tobio. Nice to meet you,” he said and resumed his walk, waving at you for a second. Your smile grew as you watched him walk down the staircase. You fumbled with your keys, opening the door to your new home. Picking up your box and your breakfast, you entered the flat and closed the door with your butt. 

“Cute,” you said out loud to nobody in particular. Tobio Kageyama’s face flashed through your mind again. 

⋙◆⋘

Tobio didn’t see you after that. He made a quick run for the grocery store, grabbing a pack of protein powder and four cartons of fresh eggs, which would both serve for his breakfast, lunch and dinner. He’d grab some milk bread for a snack, though. 

When he returned home, he made himself a protein shake. While his blender was, well blending, he made a beeline for his bedroom, grabbing his gym bag, which was sitting on a chair in his dining room. His eyes scanned the bed chamber, spotting his trainers by the wardrobe and grabbing black trackies along with a blue t-shirt; all of the above he’d toss in his bag and return back to the kitchen, where his protein shake was now perfectly blended. He poured the thick brown mixture into his shaker and closed the lit. His blender was removed from the electricity and placed in the sink, water inside to prevent it from staining. With a final look-over, he exited the kitchen, put on his shoes and left his flat once again—this time around heading for the gym, where he’d complete points two and three of his schedule, namely cardio and weights. 

Right after his gym session, he hopped on the bus to the volleyball hall, meeting up with his friend and also Karasuno alumni Sawamura Daichi, who’d just finished his patrol for the day (he decided to not pursue volleyball as a career, but rather kept it as a hobby and became a police officer). Daichi had offered Kageyama to help him with his training and evaluate his tosses and just about everything. While the constable wasn’t a professional, Tobio put quite a lot of trust onto the man, which stemmed from years of friendship and respect for his former captain, which he could never quite drop. He was older, and after all, Tobio still held greatest respect—and admittedly fear—for Oikawa Tooru, for which Hinata would call him a simp back in the day. He rolled his eyes internally, remembering that godforsaken instagram story. _Who’s the simp now?_

“Tobio, good to see you,” Daichi called out to the black haired male. “Shall we get started?” Tobio nodded with a smirk and undeniable determination in his expression. 

⋙◆⋘

When Tobio Kageyama returned in the evening, sweat-bathed and overly exhausted and ready for an hourlong round of Schweiden Adlers highlights on YouTube Premium—because he hated ads and was too lazy to install AdBlock, and the download feature was also quite handy—he was quite confused when his bell rang right as he was cracking his dinner eggs into the pan. His brow knitted in irritation—who’d want something from him at this hour? On his way to the door he went through all the options. Maybe it was Hinata, who wanted to directly brag toward him about making the team. Or maybe he forgot something in the training hall and it was just Daichi being the nice police officer, who definitely couldn’t be subsumed under the slogan of A.C.A.B, and bringing it right to Tobio’s flat. And then, a couple steps before his front door, your pretty smile, which had his heart do some weird flips and twists earlier today, flashed by his inner eye: Maybe it was you. After all, you lived right next door. His heart was now beating in excitement again, and he opened the door quite eagerly without even taking a look through the peephole, and he stared at… air? _Huh?_ Was his doorbell playing spooky with him? He’d thought that for only a split of a second, though, then his gaze was cast downwards and found a basket with what appeared to be a baby inside, wrapped in a yellow fleece blanket and a white envelope with his name written on it in neat handwriting resting atop. 

Now, Tobio had watched movies and tv shows, where stuff like that happened, and he should have known that whoever placed that little baby right by his doorstep would be long gone and sitting in a cab to the other end of the country, but he still made a run for the staircase finding absolutely nobody, and with a sigh and an expression of utmost horror and distress he climbed the steps once again, praying internally that he’d just hallucinated from all the exercise he’d done today. But to his dismay, the basket was still right there in front of his door. Running a hand through his hair, he picked it up and carried it inside, thankful that the baby was asleep in that moment. He placed the basket on the kitchen table, hands already itching to grab his mobile phone to dial Daichi’s number. But his eyes trailed from the baby, which oddly resembled him in some ways, such as hair colour and lips, over to the envelope. It clearly read ‘To: Kageyama Tobio,’ and he was sure that he was the only one going by that name in this building or maybe even district. Before he grabbed what was hopefully not a letter straight out of a chick-flick, his nose scrunched up: _Crap, my eggs._

Tobio rushed to the stove and turned it off, putting a lid atop the pan to prevent the smoke from reaching the fire alarm sensor. His stomach began to grumble and his face wore an expression like no other; it had then dawned on him: He had an unknown baby on his kitchen counter, a pan full of burned dinner and was so not going to hit YouTube tonight.


	2. Chapter Two

𝟎𝟐\. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘥𝘢

Tobio didn’t really know what to expect. Well, maybe he did expect a pastel pink letter with golden ink, describing the entirety of the story in womanly fashion with romantically placed stylistic devices straight out of a Jojo Moyes novel. Hell, he could put a pass on the diction and fancy paper and ink; a description of any sort would have been much appreciated at this point! When he’d ripped open the envelope and fished out the letter addressed to him, all he could read were few words:

_“Hello, I’m Toshio. I’m fourteen months old and your son. Please, take good care of me.”_

It was just like that creeping suspicion and his knowledge he’d gained through chick-flicks and soap operas, which were occasionally a guilty pleasure of his (not that he’d ever admit to such), told him. But Tobio Kageyama wasn’t the kind of man to sleep around, and if he did, he’d make sure to come to the battle with rubber armour because — just like how his mother had told him a thousand times whenever he _attempted_ to leave the house by bike _without_ a helmet — safety always came first! So the raven-haired setter thought; he was biting on his lip, eyebrows knitted, stare hard as if in trance. Maybe the mother of the child, of _Toshio_ (hopefully not Kageyama), mistook her fling for him. Tobio wasn’t one to boast, that was far something Hinata and Oikawa would do (yeah that duo was living in his mind rent-free at this point), but he’d been on the television a couple of times, when he’d gotten into a second league team, and when they went to nationals all throughout his high school years. It was a long shot, but perhaps his name got stuck in the mother’s head; who knows she could have been high on pretty much _whatever_ , and happened to just coincidentally watch a match of his or an interview. Yet the child had striking resemblance to him, which made his anxiety levels pop off. Tobio didn’t hate the child, he also didn’t hate the idea of being related to this child; but he just couldn’t befriend the timing it arrived by at his doorstep. Jesus Christ, Tobio was twenty-one years old, virgin to romantic relationships and eyes for only volleyball and that vending machine in the gym. He couldn’t be a Dad just yet. 

How could this even have happened? It got him thinking back to that little letter he’d just read. The baby— _Toshio_ , he corrected himself mid-thought—was fourteen months old. A pregnancy usually lasts about nine months, and the baby looks as healthy as it could be, had a proper size and he just highly doubted it was a prem. So that overall meant that he would have had to have something with that mystery mother about two years ago, Tobio concluded. And then he froze. Only once in the entirety of his life had he done something with a girl that went beyond a sloppy, drunken kiss at 3am in a disco. 

His eyes widened to possibly double their usual size: _Two years ago… Nishinoya’s goodbye party_. He gritted his teeth and shot a worrisome look at the baby—he remembered that godforsaken party he never wanted to attend in the _damn_ first place. It was meant to be a simple get-together for Karasuno and other befriended teams they’d gotten throughout high school. Nishinoya had invited people from Nekoma, from Fukorodani, and of course, he just had to invite the Aobajousai team; no, Nishinoya just had to invite the number one ladies’ man Oikawa Tooru to that party, who then brought a bunch of women to the place as well. Whether intentional or not, Tobio would pin the blame on the brunet and fellow setter, who tried to smack him to the moon in middle school over a simple question. 

⋙◆⋘

The party was lively, too lively for Kageyama; the perfect amount of lively for Hinata, Tanaka and Nishinoya. Tsukishima didn’t even bother to come, _that bastard_ , Tobio thought in utmost jealousy. He wasn’t extroverted enough to enjoy big gatherings such as these, and he’d never think of going to parties on his own. He was, just like this time, dragged and blackmailed to attend, so here he was—out of place, awkward, annoyed, and according to Ryuunosuke Tanaka in need of a good drink. The drink in question was a glass filled with half a can of Red Bull and a big shot of Jägermeister: Ah yes, the good old Jägerbomb that haunted him each and every time he agreed to drink alcohol. And it never once failed to make him see blurry and feel like France was ready to win Alsace-Lorraine back from the German right in his stomach. Tobio Kageyama was drunk, and maybe the suspicious cookie on the table even made him somewhat high, but most of all—he was drunk on a Jägerbomb _and_ a vodka lemon. 

A drunken Tobio Kageyama wasn’t all that different from a normal, sober one; however, there was one striking difference: He was easily talked into doing stupid things he wouldn’t do when sober. One time he got talked into slapping random people’s butts; most of the time, much like this one, he got paired up with a girl who happened to fancy him. But this time around, he didn’t just have a Jägerbomb, he also had a vodka lemon that Oikawa had forced upon him. If Kageyama was a fool before, he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d be considered now. Out of slurry small talk became kissing, became fumbling, and lastly became a stop-over in Nishinoya’s bedroom. His anxiety, which would usually rise up when being close to a female was clammed by the alcohol in his blood; but his good sense was at least still somewhat there. 

Tobio blinked. He couldn’t remember what the girl looked like, but he knew what happened. And what happened was that he—just like about every hormonal young adult boy—had a condom in his wallet, and he was sure that he used it. It might have been his first (and thus far only) time, but he wasn’t a total moron about it—well, aside of sleeping with a random stranger he couldn’t even remember the face of right now and probably ever. Kageyama shook his head, sparing a look toward the still sleeping baby boy, and headed toward his bedroom. 

“I used it. I’m sure of it,” he mumbled. There were eight rubbers in the pack. He only shot his shot once. So there had to be _seven_ foils left. With anxiety levels over the top, he drew the drawers on his nightstand. And surely, the box contained six condoms; the seventh missing one being in his wallet as of right now. The packs in his hand, which he had counted, were about to be put back in that box that would most likely not be used for the next couple of years, however, his sharp gaze wandered over a black writing on the silvery foil. His stare hardened; Tobio Kageyama was frowning. 

“ _EXP 2017-01-31_ , huh?” he read out in utmost confusion. EXP? Experience Points? No… then why would there be a date behind it? And then it hit him: Biology class from middle school. His mother’s birds and bees talk. The day his father had dropped that Durex pack on his desk without a comment. Kageyama hit his head against the wall, the painting that was hanging above his bed taking a fall. His mother’s voice was resonating in his ears as if she had said it to him just now.

_“_ ** _Condoms aren’t baking soda_** _. They can expire, and when they expire, they cannot be used. Baking soda can always be used. Don’t freak out about the expiration date, this baking soda expired in the 90s!”_

That damn rubber expired before he’d had intercourse with that woman. Kageyama wanted to cry. It probably ripped. Did he even check if it ripped? He groaned and held his head—he removed it and dumped it in the trash and then he passed out half naked in Noya’s bedroom. Tobio swallowed harshly and pulled his mobile phone from out of the pocket in his trousers. Hesitantly and with shaking fingers he dialled Daichi’s number. He was aware that it was late, but hey, he said if there’s an emergency then he could always call him. He’d never, not once taken that offer, he simply didn’t need to, but now, _now_ was the biggest emergency of his feeble life. The phone rung three times in total, then Daichi’s voice, a little sleepy erupted and Tobio was rendered incapable of basic human speech, or really just Japanese. 

“Tobio?” his friend called out to him again, he almost thought this was a butt call. But then the knot in Kageyama’s tongue was unwound. 

“Sawamura,” he stammered out and alerted the other line. Tobio Kageyama rarely ever had any emotion breaking through his voice other than irritation; but this was fear and desperation. 

“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you alright?” Daichi kept on asking. He was putting his socks on already, phone put on speaker as he was looking for his trousers and shirt. The policeman was ready to get him out of whatever trouble his dear high school junior could have gotten into. 

“I… there’s a baby,” he spoke in almost a whisper; Daichi was glad to have had his mobile phone on speaker and maximum volume. 

“A what? A baby?” Daichi was confused. “Did you find a baby?” 

“Yeah…” he mumbled, unsure how to continue. 

“Where’d you find it? Did you bring it home? We’ll take it to the hospital for a check-up and I’ll call the station to ask for any missing children—“ Daichi blabbered, Tobio knew he got the wrong idea. It wasn’t that he found it on a random walk in the park. It wasn’t random at all for him to find it.

“I think it’s mine,” Kageyama pressed out and heard a bump on the other line. Daichi was jumping into his trousers and tumbled straight to the ground when his friend dropped that literal bomb. His what? 

“You… you think it’s yours? What? How? Why?” Kageyama groaned, hating how he now had to explain everything. And he wasn’t even aware of most facts.

“I… the doorbell rang, and I went to open it… and then this… baby just, it was there and there was this envelope, and there was a letter in it. I read it and it said that that’s my kid! And… I don’t know it looks like me, the party, the condoms, ah that stupid Oikawa-san!” Daichi blinked on the other line, confused and not keeping up with Kageyama’s blabbering anymore. So he did what he always did best, he breathed in and out and kept his calm, unlike his friend, who was losing his goddamn mind just about now. 

“Alright,” Daichi spoke up again. “I’ll come tomorrow morning, we’ll take the child to the hospital and do a paternity test. Maybe it’s not your child after all.”

“And what if it is?” Tobio’s voice quivered. Daichi sighed.

“Then we’ll contact the authorities.”

“And then?” 

“We’ll try to find the mother.”

“And what if you can’t find her?” Daichi groaned, running a hand through his already messy bed hair.

“Tobio—“

“I can’t be a father. I… I want to be a pro volleyball player. I want to play for Schweiden Adlers. The tryouts… I… I don’t know what to do.” His friend didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t assure him that the child wasn’t his. He couldn’t assure him that they’d find the mother. He couldn’t assure him anything but this:

“I’ll be with you, Tobio, no matter what.” Strangely enough, it put the raven haired man at ease just a little bit to breathe out a thank you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Sawamura.” Daichi didn’t end the call, too afraid Tobio still had something to say. After thirty seconds of silence, a sound rung through the line. And as quickly as it came, it was over—Tobio ended the call, Daichi was sure that what he heard was a baby crying. 

⋙◆⋘

Kageyama rushed back into the kitchen, his hunger for eggs long forgotten. The baby was crying. _Toshio_ woke up and the first thing he did was crying. Tobio wanted to rip his hair out; the only one in a position to cry was the sudden, possible father, who had to deal with a mouthful already. And now that child was crying on his kitchen table. 

He stared at the child in terror, his brain not functioning anymore. Faintly, he could hear the ringtone of his mobile phone in the background; probably Daichi, but he was in no state to answer. The only thing that occupied his mind was: How do I make this thing stop?

The thing being the baby Toshio. The stop being stop crying. Truthfully, he could ring his mother out of her precious slumber, but that would only amplify her anger with him, and he really didn’t want to get his ass beaten right now because knowing his mother, she’d take the next train or even flight from Miyagi to Tokyo and only God knew whether she’d bring that frying pan, and maybe even that damn baking soda. So Tobio did what every reasonable adult would do in a foreign situation: He asked Google. 

Running into the living room to grab his Macbook, he _ignored_ the cries as best as he could, typing in the words as quickly as humanly possible into the search bar. 

“How to make a baby stop crying”

Tobio wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned that this was the auto suggestion after the baby input. Surely enough, Google provided him with a list of possible things for him to do. He didn’t know any better, so he started from the top and worked his way down to the bottom. 

“Never. Never shake a baby,” he read out and sweat dropped. It wasn’t the first thought that entered that clueless brain of his, but it was somewhere among the top ten for sure. Fortunately, he asked Google before he acted on his ‘instincts.’

“Swaddling. Wrap your baby in a blanket so it feels secure.” Tobio looked back into the kitchen. A fleece blanket was already encompassing Toshio, and he highly doubted that adding another layer would result in anything but heatstroke. 

“Side or stomach position. Hold your baby so they’re lying on their side or stomach.” Tobio was about to do just that, but decided to read further. “But always put them on their back when going to sleep.” Well, it’s supposed to go to sleep! Screw that tip. 

He read further and raised an eyebrow: “Shushing. Create ‘white noise’ that drowns out other noises. Run the vacuum cleaner, hair dryer, fan or clothes dryer.” Tobio Kageyama has never thought he’d play Mr. Clean past midnight, but here he was vacuum cleaning the floors and carpets, running the dishwasher and washing his black laundry. While his chores were done for the next week, the baby was still crying. He turned off the vacuum and returned to his Macbook until the PTSD evoking sound of his doorbell rang through the rooms yet again. Kageyama’s face became as pale as a vampire’s. 

‘Oh please, don’t tell me it’s another one,’ he pleaded in his mind. He truthfully debated not opening the door, but a part of him was hoping that maybe it was the mother who wanted her child back, so he hurried to answer, swinging the door open with all the hope he could muster, and his eyes fell on you. Were you the mother? He highly doubted it.

“Is this a joke!?” you exclaimed, pushing your way into his flat. Tobio blinked.

“Pardon?”

“I asked if this is a _sick_ ,” you added to your statement, “joke! Baby crying. Vacuum. God knows what all these sounds are,” you advanced further into his home and surely spotted a crying baby in a basket on what appeared to be a kitchen table. You sighed. “It’s already past midnight. I have classes early tomorrow. Please, make these noises stop,” you were almost begging, though in an obviously sour tone given by your equally sour mood. 

Tobio looked at you as if you just spoke Spanish to him. And then he mumbled something that you could barely hear over the crying of the toddler and the growling dishwasher.

“I… don’t know how.” And when you made out what he’d said, your jaw almost hit the floor. This was a nightmare, you thought. Tobio agreed. 


	3. Chapter Three

𝟎𝟑\. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘴

You groaned when your ears perceived noises from the flat next door. Judging by the price tag of your lease, you had suspected that there could have been a catch. Well, thin walls were one thing, a neighbour with a crying infant doing his spring cleaning in the middle of the night was another. Your head snapped toward your alarm clock, the red numbers reading a not so appreciated 00.30 a.m. Whatever sick bastard was pulling on your nerve ends, they were going to catch your fist, your attitude and a complaint. Today was your first day, your move-in day, your first night in your own little four walls, and you had an 8.00 a.m. class on History of Roman Law, so you really weren’t having it. 

With already aching head, you pushed yourself out of the warmth of your bed. You grabbed a hoodie to pull over your pyjamas and had your feet sink into your unicorn slippers. Your neighbour is going to get a beating, you’d make sure of that. Huffing, you stormed out of your flat, keys in your left hand and you followed the noise of the cries. It was right next door and without a second thought you rang the doorbell, and you made sure to press it extra long. How nobody else was in the hallway ready for bloody murder was beyond you, or maybe they’d gotten used to it and were sleeping with earphones or something. You were about to ring the doorbell again when the door swung open, your temper increasing and you only looked down toward the ground, not bothering to look the person in the face. 

“Is this a joke!?” you exclaimed and marched into the flat. Only then did you meet the eyes of the owner and your blood ran cold. That was Tobio Kageyama. That was the cute guy from earlier this morning. Surely, you were still as furious as ever, but a part of you wasn’t even mad about the noise anymore, but more at the fact that that really cute guy named Tobio Kageyama was likely to be the father of a baby, had a girlfriend or wife and was so not into you due to the existence of an own family. 

It wasn’t that you had high hopes when you bumped into him in the morning. You were far too grown out of the age of wishful, blissful thinking through a pair of pastel pink coloured shades; however, you thought he was cute and that _maybe_ you could grow closer to him if time and God allowed it. Your parents and friends, and those annoying relatives at the annual family dinner would have been overjoyed to witness yourself indulging in a proper relationship with a guy like him, but right now reality was laughing at your idea and you did not like that one bit. You heard his voice, a little shaky and irritated, replying with a small “Pardon?” and you wanted to smash your head against the wall. 

“I asked if this is a sick joke!” You repeated and your head snapped toward the instruments of noise-making, eyes narrowing and pulse quickening, “Baby crying. Vacuum. God knows what all these sounds are,” you decided to take another couple steps forward, soon seeing the baby in question and your heart sank just a little bit—it was still crying and looked uncomfortable. You sighed. 

“It’s already past midnight. I have classes early tomorrow. Please, make these noises stop,” your tone was smaller, softer, in a way you felt bad for your outburst, but you knew that your complaint was justified. You were almost quietly begging the man, in your head taking note that maybe you should bring him buns or a croissant after classes to make up for your nasty attitude and inappropriate ‘trespassing’. But then your ears slightly tickled from the lowness of his voice; you barely made out what he’s said, but then it hit you: “I… don’t know how.” 

This man, this cute dude you had no chance with, this father, this Tobio Kageyama was clueless on how to make a baby stop crying. It was then that your eyes took notice of the MacBook on his sofa, and a déjà vu from babysitting your baby cousin back then in your sophomore year slapped you like a martial artist: White noise. He was questioning Google for help just like you had been. This was an absolute nightmare. Tobio Kageyama’s almost watery eyes told you that he was absolutely agreeing with you on this one. 

“Okay,” you finally pressed out, that little foolish part of your subconscious tapping your shoulder to suggest that maybe he was a single dad and that your chances just increased by at least fifteen percent; you wanted to slap that thought away, but in a way it was pleasant if it weren’t for the crying baby in the background. “Where’s the mother?” you asked, hoping that perhaps he could give her a ring to aid in this little event. 

“I don’t know.” What? You inhaled sharply and your eyes narrowed at his form; every other person would have probably flinched, but he took it. 

“Do you know anything at all!?” you snapped and threw your head back, fists clenching as your mind was running a million miles per second. How the hell does one not know where the mother of their child was at? “Call her then?”

“Can’t.” You wanted to scream at him once again, but he beat you to it. “I mean it. I don’t even know who she is, alright?” Your eyes widened and you sucked in a breath to stop your protest. Okay. This was confusing, but this was most likely not your business. The only actual business you had was getting a gracious amount of sleep, and for that you needed that baby to sleep, the dishwasher to shut up, and the vacuum to be locked away or be exchanged for a Dyson. Starting with the baby was likely the best. 

“Good,” you began, mentally slapping yourself because nothing was good about this situation—other than maybe his single status, your subconscious reminded you—and you walked over to the basket with the baby inside. It was wrapped in a fleece blanket and looked at you with red, tear-stained eyes. Its cheeks were big and looked quite soft; a cute baby if it weren’t for the noise, you had to admit. Tobio Kageyama made a startled noise when your hands wrapped around the tiny frame of the baby, lifting it up; your nose crumpled up as your nostrils took in the scent of what was most possibly a full diaper. 

“It needs a fresh diaper,” you stated and the man’s eyes widened. He felt incredibly dumb in that moment. Of course, the little shit had the audacity to actually shit in his own four walls. And if the faecal realisation wasn’t enough, he had voiced out yet another: “Shit!” he exclaimed and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow, baby in your arms as you were rubbing its back in hopes of calming it down just a little bit. 

“I don’t have any.” Was he serious? 

“Well, go to the 24 hour store then, Jesus!” you groaned with intensifying frustration. The raven-haired man nodded, eyes flashing with acknowledgement and your tired orbs were blinking barely a couple times as he grabbed his wallet, jacket and shoes in record time, storming out of his flat and ultimately leaving you inside. 

“W-wait!” you called out with a quiver, but the door was already slammed shut and you sighed. “He really left us alone, huh?” you told the baby on your shoulder as it had finally calmed down. “If he doesn’t have diapers, then he probably also doesn’t have baby wipes or powder. Your dad’s a mess, kid.” The baby only burped. You grimaced. Maybe you should have just gotten earplugs instead.

⋙◆⋘

Tobio ran at the speed of light down the stairs, not bothering to take the lift. Mentally, he felt like he was back in his first years of high school and facing Aobajousai with Oikawa as the captain and setter; his knees were burning as he picked up a tempo that would rival even Hinata’s, skittering down the stairs till he was out and about, sprinting toward the nearby 24-hour store. The cashier sent him a questioning look as his panting form pushed the door open with the force of Hulk; internally the worker was debating to maybe call the cops because Tobio looked like he’s seen a ghost, but the guy behind the register didn’t want to bother with that at such a late hour, so he observed Tobio in amusement as he stormed toward the hygiene section. 

In hindsight, maybe he should have waited for a hot second. Maybe he should have taken you with him or at least gotten your phone number. Taking this even further, maybe he should have finally installed the house telephone, but here he was in the aisle of doom, looking at the dozens of brands of diapers with what looked like a hundred differences. These things have _sizes_. How in the bloody hell was he supposed to know what diaper size Toshio had? Was he supposed to take out a measuring tape and measure that poopy ass, or was this knowledge that a parent naturally acquired? 

“Pampers Baby Dry size 0. Pampers Pure Protection size 2. Pampers Baby Dry size 4. Pampers Premium Protection size 1. Pampers Premium Protection size 4. Pampers Nappy Pants size 3,” the cashier voiced out as Tobio brought pretty much everything from the aisle to the counter. Tobio only glared at the ground as he heard the beeping sound of each product getting scanned. 

“You got a lotta kids, dude.” Tobio bit his lip, not wanting to reply. 

“Just one actually.” The cashier shrugged, hitting total and Tobio wanted to cry. 9,800 Yen. Babies are like a hole to the wallet, he thought begrudgingly. With a sigh he pulled out his credit card from out of his wallet, swiping it against the device and typing his code in along with the green ‘confirm’ button. Whilst Tobio was anxiously dropping everything into the bags, the cashier handed him the receipt, which he barely dumped into one of the bags as well and left the store. 

He was back in his flat within minutes. When he opened his front door, he spotted you on the sofa with the baby still cradled to your chest. Tobio stared at you, then at the baby, then at the position, and ultimately—although hating to admit it for the Christian boy he liked to pretend to be—at your boobs. He wanted to throw himself off a cliff when he realised that he probably should have gotten baby milk or some other food for Toshio, but maybe the baby would last till the morning. Who even eats at such unholy hour? His heart dropped, his stare hardened: He was a notorious midnight snacker, and if Toshio was his spawn… then he’d have to see that cashier again. 

“Ah, you’re back,” you called out to the raven haired boy, noticing the two stuffed bags in his hands. You wanted to compliment him, considering the amount he’d bought, maybe he had actually gotten some wipes, baby powder, or food. But as Tobio Kageyama placed the outcome of his late night shopping adventure down on the living room table—whilst almost knocking his precious MacBook off it—you realised that the man was really worse than your high school self could have ever been. The urge to laugh won over you, and you let out a mild chuckle making Tobio frown. 

“What?” You shook your head, biting back further chortling.

“Nothing. It’s just, I half expected this, but it’s still funny how you bought all kinds of diapers,” you replied, grabbing one pack, inspecting it and putting it back into the bag until you finally found one you deemed fitting for the baby. 

“You know, Kageyama-san,” you started again, earning his attention, “At the side of these packages, you can see a recommendation based on age and weight.” Tobio blinked and surely he saw it. So, size one was for new borns, up to 2 kg; so, he had essentially wasted a lot of money just now. Amazing. 

Startling Tobio, you got up from the sofa. The man raised an eyebrow at you, but you shot him a small smile. Tobio Kageyama was a clueless man when it came down to babies or parenting; he looked stressed, overwhelmed, and foreign to the situation. He didn’t know the mother, he didn’t know that changing diapers was a thing—or maybe he did know that, but banned it from his memory—and suddenly the thought entered your head: Perhaps, the reason he was so clumsy rooted from the fact that he was helping out a friend, doing some babysitting (admittedly an awful job, but oh well). Either that, or he kidnapped a baby from the local park and was now dealing with the consequences. You wanted to laugh at your vivid imagination, but considered the now calm baby and reminded yourself that this wasn’t your business, and that you being his neighbour might lead to him telling you the desired information soon enough. 

“Can you bring me a big towel?” you asked and he nodded, walking into what you presumed to be his bathroom. Half a minute later, he returned with a black body towel. You nodded with your chin toward the couch, and he cocked an eyebrow at you. Really, he was a mess. 

“Changing diapers, Kageyama-san. You don’t want to end up with unnecessary stains, especially on a beautiful beige sofa.” 

“Ah.” Realisation came over him, and so did an embarrassed blush. He really felt terrible for keeping you up, but he also knew that he desperately needed your help. “That… makes sense,” he muttered afterwards and you placed the baby down on the now spread out towel. The baby eyed you, legs kicking around and you giggled. It was cute. It was really cute, and not just because of the mini Snoopy sweater. With careful hands, you removed the pants. Tobio observed your every movement; he noted how you gently stroked the now naked, chubby legs, your thumb rubbing circles on the knees. His orbs reflected the image of you opening the buttons of the white body underneath the clothes, securing the diapers. He hadn’t realised he was holding his breath until you finally removed the diapers, revealing the dump his maybe-son did and the stench punched his nose and almost tickled his gag reflex. 

“Oh my, you made a big poo-poo,” you sang and pinched Toshio’s cheek, and then you sighed. Tobio’s appearance back in his flat; his kind of muscular arms, the little bit of sweat trailing by his carotid—you had forgotten to ask him to fetch baby wipes and powder. 

“What's wrong?” Tobio asked you, worry dripping from his tongue. He was adorable. You hated that you were even doing this for such a klutz. 

“Do you have baby wipes?” Tobio’s eyes sank. He had seen them in that aisle, but he thought he only needed diapers. It was foolish, and he had accepted that he was a fool, and he was also just about ready to make a run back, but you grabbed him by wrist before he could leave you again. His skin was warm and soft, almost like the baby’s and you were really hoping he was just babysitting and doing a terrible performance. 

“It’s fine. Wait a second,” you told him and he nodded, watching you rise up from the sofa to walk out of his flat. In a way, he was scared you wouldn’t return, and really, he wouldn’t even blame you for it. Toshio started sobbing now, kicking into the air and Kageyama was doing his best to ignore the smell of baby poop. He sat down on the sofa, trying to mimic what you’d done before: stroking the legs, drawing circles on the small knees. Tobio Kageyama noted that baby skin was soft, and that your fingers on his wrist were very close to that. He also noted that the touch made him smile a little bit; it almost had the effect of the wonderful leather of a volleyball. Tobio shook his head—Toshio was round and squishy, just like a volleyball. The baby calmed down at his touch, and maybe, just maybe he would be able to deal with parenthood. Steps alerted him and made his head snap toward his front door, your form coming into field of vision. His chest was bubbling, the hair on his neck standing; he could see a pack of what seemed to be makeup wipes in your hands as well as small, metallic container. 

“Can't believe my sensitive skin would ever be beneficial. I got sensitive makeup wipes and Penaten creme. That should work,” you beamed at him with a grin. Tobio couldn’t help but return a smile. He didn’t know you, but he trusted your judgement. Tobio Kageyama felt like he could deal with parenthood, yes, but that was with you in the picture.


End file.
